My Junk
by welcome to maddieland
Summary: You'll have to excuse me, I know it's so off..." Massie Block writes a letter that she never intended to end up in Landon Crane's hands. Mandon. Five-shot.
1. The Letter

**My name is** _Massie Block_.

**I prefer to go by** _Massie_.

--

Landon Crane,

I remember everything. Do you?

I remember that stupid smirk you gave me when I got a detention for coming into PE too late. I tried to step on your hand and wipe that stupid grin off your face but you moved just in time. You would follow me all around that stupid gym and I would yell at you to go away but would you? No, never.

To my friends, you were my stalker. When I pointed them out to you as discreetly as I could, you still noticed me anyway and starting moving through the crowd, trying to catch up with us. I complained that I didn't know what your deal was. I complained about you all the time.

And then gym class ended that semester. We didn't do anything the last day—the coach let us hang out in his office and eat his nachos from Taco Bell. And you told me that if I let you sit in the coach's leather desk chair (you were in a less comfortable wooden one), then you would never talk to me or stalk me or bug me again.

I accepted. I thought I would feel free. Instead, I felt empty. Because when I came back from winter break, you weren't there, but I still thought about you all the time. I found myself hoping that we would run into each other in the halls. I would deliberately cut through the eighth grade halls just to see you. I found out that our last period classes were right next to each other and I would time it so that we both left the doors at the same time, so that you would see me and talk to me and bug me again.

One day, it worked. You grabbed my Juicy tote and started dragging me down the hallway while I screamed and pleaded, begging you to let go so that I could go meet up with Isaac. You only let go when Skye Hamilton yelled, "Landon! Stop raping people in the halls!" I rushed down the stairs, but the whole time I was smiling like an idiot.

The last time we ever talked was right before Spring Break. I had to leave eighth period early so we could catch our late flight to the Bahamas and you were sitting outside your Spanish class doing workbook pages for some reason or another. You looked up and I blurted out, "Hey!" because I really was happy to see you, not annoyed. And you looked happy to see me too. You asked me where I was headed off to and I told you the Bahamas and you told me in your most flamboyant voice, "Don't meet any suspicious guys!"

The next night, I had a dream about you. And that's when I knew that I was head over heels for you. I told Bean. She yipped in approval.

But that was it. When I came back from Spring Break, we never spoke to each other again. I would walk by you in the halls and you wouldn't say a word. I don't think you even looked at me again.

That was okay, though. I got over it eventually. I had lots of crushes that year. You were just one of many.

But despite all that, I still wanted you to be the one.

I now see you in the most random places—in line at the movie theatre, cheering on the Wolves at a Westchester Secondary football game. And even after all this time, after I've been with Cam and Derrick and I kissed Kemp Hurley that night I had my first drink, you're still the one I want.

You're at Westchester Secondary School now. I'll be there in less than a year.

Sincerely, Massie Block

--

That note shouldn't matter at all. In fact, it should have been tucked away in the back of an old cardboard box and forgotten about until spring cleaning when I would read it, laugh at my naïve 13-year-old self, and throw it away.

But no. That note _does_ matter. And this is the story of how it gained importance.

It started in Mrs. Vines's English class in 8th grade. You know how usually you get English teachers that are crotchety old ladies who think MTV is of the devil and the creators of Facebook should be flayed alive? Well, Mrs. Vines was no blue-haired crone. She was bright and blonde and bubbly. She talked to us about _American Idol_ and _The Office_ and tried to give us assignments that we could actually relate to. No three-page papers on Steinbeck's message in _The Red Pony_ in her class—instead, we wrote detailed reviews. We were even allowed to say the book sucked.

The day she assigned the letter project I happened to be feeling particularly nostalgic and I suppose Mrs. Vines was too.

"I remember what it was like to be thirteen," Mrs. Vines had sighed, glancing around at her half-asleep pupils. "I remember _hating_ English some days. All those notes! All those papers! I didn't care about iambic pentameter or similes or metaphors. I was only in eighth grade.

"So today, we're going to do something that has nothing to do with proper grammar or sentence structure. You're going to get to write whatever you want. Well, more specifically, you're going to get to write a letter to whoever you want. Maybe you want to pour out your heart to the love of your life." She paused here and smiled at her _Romeo and Juliet_ poster. "Or maybe you want to get a head start on convincing your parents to buy you a car for your sixteenth birthday." A few kids in the front row tittered. "Whatever it is, I don't care. And I won't read it either. I just have to make sure you wrote something by the end of the period. Start."

Everyone starting scribbling in their notebooks almost immediately, myself included. I knew exactly what I wanted to say. So I wrote that stupid letter and showed Mrs. Vines and tucked it into the back of my binder like an idiot. I thought that if I kept it close, nobody would ever read it, especially _him_.

And so the letter stayed in the back of my binder, creased, wrinkled, and forgotten. I had folded in and tucked it so deep into the pocket that when I cleaned out my binder to prepare it for ninth grade, I didn't even notice it.

It would have never been found if it weren't for Layne Abeley. It turns out she kind of had a thing for Landon—he was good friends with her brother. I had let her borrow my Spanish notes one day and when she went to clip them back into my binder, she noticed a corner of the letter sticking out of the back pocket. I didn't even notice when she took it out, read the first sentence, and stuck it into her own bag.

Layne kept that note for a good three months until last night, which from now on I'll call That Night. That Night my life was ruined. That Night that I could never think of Landon Crane the same way ever again.

* * *

Good? Bad? Yes? No? I've had this in the works forever, it feels good to finally post it.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!


	2. About a Month Ago

Yay for positive reviews! Thanks for the feedback, guys.

I've decided that this isn't going to be more than a five-shot. So here's Massie again, about a month before That Night.

* * *

**My favourite subject in school is** _apparel_ **because** _I love to design masterpieces._

**My least favourite subject in school is** _Spanish_ **because** _I'm not good at learning foreign languages._

--

I wasn't supposed to be eating. Ms. Lozano didn't allow food in her Spanish class. Yet every time she turned her head back to the dry-erase board ("Sacen papel para tomar a puntas, clase!"), I let my hand sneak down into my Vera Bradley lunch bag to snatch up another chunk of Nutz Over Chocolate Luna Bar.

It wasn't very ladylike, but the fifth time I popped another bite of my Luna bar into my mouth, Landon Crane waltzed into the room and I began choking on it. Ms. Lozano whipped around, first to scowl at me for eating in her already ant-infested classroom, then to smile warmly at Landon.

I silently cursed myself for looking like an idiot in front of him. Choking just because he walked into the room? I might as well have stood on my desk and screamed that I _still_ liked him three years later. The smirk I remembered so well was already resting on his face when he handed a blue slip of paper to Ms. Lozano and casually flicked his office assistant tag.

"Chris Plovert?" Ms. Lozano peered around the room until she spotted the gangly blonde. "Your lunch is waiting in the main office. Go pick it up after we're done with notes." She waddled over to Chris and slapped the slip onto his desk. Landon starting inching towards the door, but Ms. Lozano raised a pudgy hand and he paused.

"Massie, this is the third time I've caught you eating in my class after I have specifically stated not to. Go with Landon to your grade-level office and get a lunch detention."

"But—" I protested, not even stopping to think of the fact that I'd have five uninterrupted minutes alone with Landon.

"Go!" she snapped as she shuffled back to the board, muttering something under her breath in Spanish that I vaguely recognized as "disrespectful kids". My cheeks warmed as I got up and pushed my way towards Landon, the class tittering behind me the whole time.

"Ooh, you're in trouble now, Block," Landon teased as soon as the door swung shut behind us. My cheeks grew even warmer and his smirk turned into a full-blown grin.

"So you remember me, huh?" I said as casually as I could, allowing myself to look straight into his electric blue eyes. God, I had missed those eyes.

"'Course I do," Landon replied, punching me softly on the shoulder. "You're kind of hard to forget."

I giggled. "What have you been up to in the past…" I paused here, as though I weren't actually keeping track of days since I last saw him. "...oh, past three years?"

"You know," he shrugged, holding open the door to the Foreign Language hall for me. "The usual. Grades. Lacrosse. Girls."

_Girls._ I involuntarily winced.

"You okay?" he murmured, staring down at me with concern.

"Oh, I got cold, that's all," I muttered. He nodded.

"Yeah. I love this time of year."

We trudged up the stairs in a semi-awkward silence.

"So for my 16th birthday I got this black pug," he continued, his words rushed as though he were a little nervous. "I named him Bark Obama."

"No way!" I cried.

"Yeah," he panted. We paused for breath on the second floor landing. "Didn't you used to have a pug too?"

I bit my lip. He remembered. "Yeah, I still do. Her name's Bean. She's a little older than Bark Obama though."

"Does she like younger dogs?" Landon ask-teased as we ascended the next flight of stairs.

"Oh yeah," I replied. "She's a total cougar."

He laughed and I joined in. The sound echoed throughout the empty staircase.

"But what about you? What have you been up to, Massie?" Apparently it was my turn to talk.

"Oh, I dunno," I fibbed. "Eighth grade was weird; I was glad to get out of middle school. Freshman year was great…and here I am now." He squinted at me, and then nodded.

"That's right. I remember seeing you around last year."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" I blurted. All those times I had passed him in the hall, hoping to catch his eye…and I never did.

"Why didn't _you_ say anything?" Landon challenged, one black eyebrow raised.

"I just figured you wouldn't remember," I sighed as nonchalantly as possible.

"Like I said," he remarked, pulling open the door to the 9th and 10th grade office. "You're hard to forget."

"Stop flirting with the juvenile delinquents, Mister Crane," the office lady manning the front desk grumped.

"Oh, this one's hardly a delinquent," Landon chuckled. "She's supposed to get a lunch detention for eating in class."

"You know what to do," the office lady sighed before she whipped a small pink pad of paper at him. Landon caught it with one hand, wrestled a pen out of his pocket, and began scribbling on the top sheet. I leaned over his shoulder to try and see what he was writing, but he nudged me away.

"Uh-uh," he scolded. "This is official office assistant business. Underclassmen are not allowed to view this sheet until it's been signed by the lovely Ms. Ragsdale."

The cranky office lady—Ms. Ragsdale—and I simultaneously rolled our eyes. Landon finished filling out the form and tossed it gently onto Ms. Ragsdale's desk. She scanned it quickly, stifled a grin, and signed it on the bottom line.

"Be up here by the time the lunch bell rings tomorrow to do your lunch detention, Miss Block." Ms. Ragsdale ripped the top sheet off of the pad and handed it to me. "This is no tea at the Ritz-Carlton, by the way. Bring your own napkins and silverware."

"Yes ma'am," I grumbled. I made my way towards the door, but Landon stopped me before I could leave.

"See you around, Massie," he whispered, throwing in a wink for good measure.

I blushed and rolled my eyes at him one last time. Once I finally got out in the hallway, I began studying my pink lunch detention slip. It suddenly hit me as to why Ms. Ragsdale had giggled at it.

Landon had scribbled his number across the bottom.


	3. Landon and I Went on a NotDate

**One thing I like about myself is** _my eyes_.

**One thing I wish I could change about myself is** _the fact that I trust too easily_.

--

I entered lunch in a daze.

Was one lunch detention and a choked-on piece of Luna Bar all it really took to get Landon Crane's attention? Had I really wasted three years lusting after him when at this point I could be going out with him?

In the middle of my reverie, Olivia Ryan burst into the refectory, holding a salad in one hand and gesturing as she spoke with the other. Todd Lyons strode next to her, his big brown eyes positively rapt with attention.

Olivia's my _best_ best friend. We've known each other for about five years now, and I consider Mr. and Mrs. Ryan to be my second parents. We have our ups and downs, of course, but there was one point in our friendship where we were together constantly and Layne Abeley started calling us 'The Magnets'.

Todd, however, hasn't been around as long. He's a freshman, but everyone can already tell that he's destined to be the next big thing in Westchester's award-winning theatre department. Somehow Olivia, Todd, and I all ended up in Apparel with each other, and if that doesn't tell you something about Todd's _preferences_, then you're blind to the obvious.

However, I barely noticed them when they sat down.

"I thought you were a vegetarian now," Todd remarked as he watched Olivia pry the plastic top off of her salad.

"I am," Olivia huffed as she stabbed a leaf of lettuce.

"But you've got chicken on your salad," he pointed out.

"No, they're croutons," Olivia insisted.

"No, honey, no," Todd sighed as he plucked up a piece of the suspicious-looking chicken and popped it into his mouth. "It's chicken."

"Vegetarian fail," Olivia laughed. She turned to face me. "You're quiet today. How was your morning?"

I shrugged.

"She walked out of the Foreign Language Hall with some boy this morning," Todd announced. Crap. I forgot he was taking German the same time I was in Spanish.

"Who?" Olivia demanded. I watched her eyes as she mentally catalogued every boy I had ever spoken to and every boy I had ever liked, loved, or lusted after. I chugged my Vitamin Water to avoid answering.

Of course, just at that moment, Landon happened to walk by. My body reacted quicker than my brain did—I did the tiniest of spit takes and half of my Vitamin Water ended up back in the bottle. The other half landed on Todd's outstretched hand.

"Ew," he moaned, reaching for Olivia's unused napkin. Landon's wandering eyes finally landed on me and he burst out laughing.

"Having some issues with swallowing today, Block?" he teased as he fished a napkin out of his pocket and handed it to me.

"Kind of," I griped. He slid into the seat across from me.

"Hey, I remember you," said Landon as he took in Olivia's slack-jawed form. "Olivia Ryan, right?"

Olivia nodded. Todd cleared his throat.

"Oh, hey. I'm Landon, by the way," Landon mumbled. Todd eagerly stuck his non-spat-on hand for a handshake.

"I'm Todd Lyons."

"He's a fish," I said, as if that could explain any of Todd's…Todd-ness. Landon quickly wiggled out of the handshake and fixed his attention back on me.

"I'm assuming you took your lunch detention seriously?" Landon asked, his eyebrows raising in a way that implied that he was talking about more than just me being in trouble.

"Oh, for sure." I nodded vigorously.

"Yo, Landon! Stop flirting with the underclassmen!" Danny Robbins called from across the refectory.

"Gotta go," Landon sighed. "Oh, Massie, you got a little something on your…" he tapped his chin. I hurriedly wiped away the last of my Vitamin Water drool as Landon strutted away.

As soon as I knew that he wasn't within earshot or sight, I buried my face in my palms.

"Who was that?" Todd murmured.

"This boy she's been madly in love with since the seventh grade except she was too shy to do anything about it. It's about time, Massie." Olivia stuffed more of her salad into her mouth—carefully avoiding the pieces of chicken, of course—and rolled her eyes.

--

That pink slip of paper was my enemy.

I had refused to take it out of my True Religions until I was completely finished with my Algebra II equations. Now it was sitting on my Pottery Barn desk, attempting to look innocent. It wasn't fooling me.

What did I do? Did I text him? Did I call him? Did he want to go on a date? Was I really going to become one of those girls who dated older boys? Not that one year's age difference changed anything.

I needed Olivia here to dial the number for me. I needed Todd here to decipher Landon's true intentions. I needed Landon here to tell me what he wanted.

But all I had was myself. So I picked up my iPhone, jabbed the numbers in as quickly as I could, and held the phone to my ear. Two rings later and Landon was on the line.

"Hullo?" he sounded groggy, distracted. Had I woke him up? Was he in the middle of something?

Was he with another girl?

"Hi Landon, it's Massie," I finally said, coming off a _lot_ more confident than I felt.

"Massie!" he cried, and I could feel the enthusiasm in his voice. "Right! I gave you my number. I was thinking, since we haven't seen each other in so long and we never really got to know each other, we could…we could, like, hang out some time." His voice trailed off, almost as if he were embarrassed.

"Starbucks works," I suggested feebly.

"Yes!" he cheered. "Starbucks after school tomorrow. You and me. We'll meet at the front of the school and walk."

"It's a date," I blurted. I heard him give a little gasp and I knew I had to end this conversation _now_. "Uh, gotta go. See you tomorrow."

_Click_.

--

I ordered a Mint Chocolate Chip Frappuccino—a drink I had frequently toted while walking into first period gym in 7th grade. He smiled as he watched me order—maybe he remembered me carrying in the cool, sweating drink and refusing to do the morning warm-ups until I had drained every last drop?—and ordered a Caramel Macchiato for himself.

We slid into the booth in the corner—the one usually taken by giddy high school couples. The pit of my stomach tingled at the thought.

"So, Massie," Landon said as soon as we were adjusted in our seats. "Tell me everything."

So I spilled.

I think this happens to everybody. You see somebody—maybe a picture of Logan Lerman in People, talking about his role in _Percy Jackson_, or perhaps Derrick Harrington smiles at you when you pass him in the hall—and you latch on to that idea of being with that person. You start fangirling that person, whether they're a celebrity or they just sit across from you in English. You think about them so often that you already trust them with your whole heart and you know, you just _know_, that if they sat down and talked to you for only a minute, they would love you and trust you too.

So I couldn't stop the word vomit when it came to Landon. But he responded to the word vomit. We were _both_ word vomiting, as weird as that sounds. We spent an hour in that Starbucks talking about everything and nothing until the subject of 7th grade—the last time we had been in close contact with each other—finally came up.

"I remember that!" he howled, wiping away tears of laughter while I pounded the table. "And you were screeching the whole time while I was dragging you down the hall by the strap of your bag and Skye told me to stop—"

"I think her approximate words were 'stop raping people in the halls,'" I snickered. "Do you remember what you were going to do with me that day?"

"Nah," Landon sighed. "But God, you had such a crush on me back then."

This seems like a more appropriate situation to choke in. But my Frappuccino was nowhere near my mouth, so instead my stomach dropped to the very bottoms of my feet.

"You did, right?" he asked, stuffing some cinnamon biscotti into his mouth and squinting at me.

"Uh, yeah."

"Yeah," he nodded and swallowed. "But I bet you're over that by now, huh?"

The way he said it—ever so casually, while letting his eyes wander over to the cute Abner Doubleday girl picking up her latte—told me that this, this after-school date, this deep conversation and mindless laughter, was all our relationship was ever going to be. His flirting was not proof that he liked me, the giving out of his number did not mean he wanted to start a relationship. He fixed his blue eyes back on my amber ones with pure friendliness pouring out of them.

That was all he wanted. To be friends.

I swallowed hard. "Yup. Over it. You know middle school crushes."

He gave me a small smile. "Yeah, I do. I really do."

Before I could dissect the implications in his voice, none other than Layne Abeley swept into Starbucks.

"Landon?" she gasped.

"Hey, Layne," he said, looking up at her with what I hoped was brotherly love.

It wasn't that I didn't like Layne—she's okay, if not a little annoying at the best of times—but I felt like I couldn't breathe anymore.

So I left without another word to Landon.


	4. That Night

Because it's snowing outside (it never snows here) and because I love y'all and because I got off school early...Here's chapter 4.

(I think I'm going to make a snow fort today just like in _Where the Wild Things Are_)

* * *

**What would you like to accomplish this year? (Be honest!)** _I'd really like an honest-to-goodness relationship. And good grades :)_

_--_

Around eight o'clock that night I was as done as I would ever be with my homework and I knew I had to get out of the freaking house.

Technically, I only have my permit and I'm not supposed to drive without an adult in the car. But that was a formality and if I didn't get over to Olivia's house_ right now_ I was going to hit something. Hard.

So I told Inez (my parents think that our elderly housekeeper will successfully replace them in terms of parenting; this is a lie) that I was taking Bean out for a walk, but instead I threw her in the passenger seat of the cherry-red Lexus convertible that will someday be mine and sped off to Olivia's.

(I mean really, it's less than a mile away.)

By the time she flung open her front door, I was using Bean as a living Kleenex.

"I take it that it didn't go that well?" she murmured, squishing both Bean and I into a hug. Bean made a few guttural coughing sounds, and I could hear Gigi, Olivia's mixed breed, getting excited in the other room.

Olivia led me to the living room and sat me down on her L-shaped couch. Ignoring the fact that Mrs. Ryan was half-watching _Forrest Gump_ and that Olivia's younger brother Andy was messing with his iguana on the other end of the couch, I took a seat and started wailing.

"He just wants to be friends," I moaned into Olivia's shoulder. This would be the second of her cardigans that I've stained with my tears and eyeliner.

"He does?" Mrs. Ryan gasped, muting her movie and focusing her full attention on me.

I hiccupped a couple of times. "Well, he didn't exactly say that, but he asked me if I used to have a crush on him in seventh grade and I said yeah and he was all, I bet you're over it now and I didn't know what to say so I said I was." I sniffled and coughed out another sob. Olivia grabbed the nearest drink on her coffee table—a half-drunk Dr. Pepper—and shoved it in my face. I gratefully chugged the soda.

"Hey!" Andy protested. "That was mine!" We both glared at him and he went back to quietly cuddling his iguana.

"Where's your dad?" I muttered.

"School board meeting," Olivia sighed. "It's going to be okay, you know that, right?"

I glared at her. "No, it's not."

"You were just saying the other day how much you wanted a new best guy friend."

"We already have Todd, remember?"

Olivia sighed and settled for blasting All Time Low on her Macbook instead of answering me. Over on the other end of the couch, Andy picked up his iguana and made him dance along to the guitar solo that started the first track. The four of us burst out laughing and for a moment, I forgot all about Landon Crane.

--

But only for a moment.

It seemed like Landon was completely serious about us being good friends. One minute, I'd be rushing to get to World History, and the next he would sneak up and throw his arm around me and time would slow and it would be just the two of us talking about what happened that weekend and laughing at some stupid thing one of our friends had done.

Of course, this didn't change the fact that every time I saw him, I felt like somebody had punched me in the chest. In the midst of his hugs and his laughs and his smiles, it was easy to pretend that there could be something more. But there never would be.

I couldn't figure out if it was my fault for not speaking up or if he really didn't want anything more than a platonic relationship right now. Because him not wanting a romance sounded better than, "I was too much of a weenie to say that I wasn't over him yet," I used the platonic excuse when Todd asked what had gone down during our coffee date.

And then, mid-October, That Night happened.

--

It was the last pool party of the season. Landon had turned up the heat in his pool and set the jets in his hot tub to full blast. And if you were still cold, then there were plenty of half-naked junior boys to snuggle up against.

I still couldn't believe that he invited me—"And Olivia too, I know you guys are good friends." I knew he went to and threw parties each weekend, but they were usually strictly upperclassmen.

So Olivia and I spent the entire Saturday weeding through our old summer clothes and experimenting with different makeup (Olivia only let MAC touch her face, I was open to anything). We finally deemed ourselves acceptable and I spent the two hours before we left hyperventilating.

"What are you so nervous about?" Todd asked me over the phone while Olivia absentmindedly watched Gossip Girl reruns.

"That he'll look at the flab on my stomach and get turned off," I babbled. At this point, I didn't know _why_ I was nervous. I just was.

"Please. You and Olivia are two of the skinniest bitches I know," said Todd, almost as though he were complaining.

"Olivia! Are you two ready?" Mrs. Ryan hollered up the stairs.

"It's go time," Olivia said to Todd as a way of saying bye before snatching her phone out of my hands and ending the call.

By the time we arrived, the party was already in full force. It was mostly seniors and juniors, and a few of the upperclassmen girls glared at us as we walked in. But as we weaved through the crowd, we spotted a few kids from our grade—including Layne Abeley, who was hovering by the hot tub Landon was currently immersed in.

Olivia and I made to turn away—Layne chatting up Landon was really the last thing I wanted to see right now—but she caught our eye and waved us over. I quickly shook my head and gestured at Skye Hamilton, who we had just spotted lounging in the Crane's cabana.

"Why so quick to get away, Massie?" Layne called. "I thought you were Landon's biggest fan."

You know that feeling where panic seizes your chest and your heart starts pounding really hard and you think you might throw up? I got that, but only ten times worse.

Landon turned towards me with a confused look on his face and the people around us went slightly quiet, awkwardly giggling at me. Olivia tugged on my elbow, but I couldn't move. Layne's smug smirk kept me in place.

"Oh, don't play dumb. I saw that letter did you wrote."

The most intense of flashbacks hit me. The day I wrote the letter, the wistful look on Ms. Vines' face, her _Romeo and Juliet_ poster, the way the sunlight came into the room—I saw it all. And I wanted to run back to that day in eighth grade and rip the paper out of my 13-year-old hands.

But the letter wasn't in my hands anymore. It was in Layne's. And now she was pulling it out of the back pocket of her jean shorts so she could read it to everyone.

"'Dear Landon Crane,'" she began in an overly dramatic fashion. "'I remember everything. Do you?'"

She read every single word off of that worn piece of paper. And the whole time, Landon kept his eyes on mine. When Layne got to the part about the last time I talked to him, before I had gone to the Bahamas, I realized that I was crying. And shaking my head. Trying to make him realize that none of it was true if he didn't want it to be.

Layne threw my letter into the hot tub. Landon snatched it up before it could hit the water and crumpled it in his hand.

"Guess she lied to you, Landon," said Layne coolly.

"You bitch," Olivia snarled, taking a step towards Layne.

"It's not worth it, Olivia, let's go," I whimpered before turning around and pushing my way through the crowd.

"Massie!" Olivia called as I pushed open his wooden gate and ran down his driveway.

"Olivia, let me handle this. Massie! Massie, wait!"

Landon was running after me.


	5. Right Here, Right Now

Sorry that this update took so long! I'm just glad this story finally got written after sitting in my head for nearly six months.

Y'all's reviews are amazing. They've made me so happy :)

* * *

**The person who matters most to me is**_ Landon Crane_.

--

I blew my nose rather ungracefully on my cover-up and whipped around, my bare feet scraping against the chilly gravel of his driveway.

I wanted to die. Literally. I wanted to bury myself under Mrs. Crane's rosebushes and not come out until fifty years later, when everyone had (hopefully) forgotten about tonight.

Landon stopped right in front of me, practically taking my face in his hands while he tried to wipe the tears off my face. I jerked my head away. He took a step back.

"When'd you write that?" he murmured. I tried to read his face, but he was looking at every part of me but my eyes.

"Eighth grade," I admitted miserably.

"So you still liked me then." It was a statement, not a question.

I nodded.

"What about ninth grade?"

I nodded again.

"And…now?"

"I lied, okay?" The words burst from my mouth. "I lied because I knew you had never liked me back, that you never _would_ like me back, that—"

He burst out laughing. The tears threatened to spill out again.

"No, Massie. _I_ lied."

I hate those moments where every single possibility for your future hangs on one person's words. Because that one moment feels like a freaking hour.

"You know that day in Starbucks? When I basically asked you if you still liked me? And then I tried to act like I didn't care whether you liked me or not? I was afraid you were going to say no. And you did. So I swore that I wasn't going to bother you again since you'd already moved on. But I couldn't help myself. I did like you back. I've _always _liked you back. And…and I still like you back." He blew this whole monologue out in a single breath and finally, finally looked into my eyes.

I'm normally pretty chill. But he was standing there, and everything I had been praying for the past three years had finally come true, so I tackled him. We landed with a thud in the grass and I kissed him like I really, truly meant it.

We didn't come back to the party for another half-hour.

--

Landon and I are still together three months after That Night.

Most of the time he just comes over to my house and we watch our dogs play. For the record, Bean _is_ a total cougar.

Olivia's totally benefited from our hookup too—Landon introduced her to one of his senior buddies. Olivia and I have never been the double-date type, but we've successfully convinced the boys to come see _Where the Wild Things Are _with us.

Sometimes Landon and I will be walking down the hall with our hands intertwined and Layne will see us and start throwing some sort of fit. However, Landon won't even look at her. He barely acknowledges her presence these days. He can't stand "those girls who purposely ruin other people's lives."

So I'm happy. And satisfied. And I think with the way things are going, I'll be staying happy for a long, long time.

All thanks to a lunch detention.


End file.
